what if this storm ends (and i don't see you as you are, ever again)
by achieving elysium
Summary: "Maybe it was Adam... standing there with his heart next to the stripes on his uniform, and his mouth would close around the name Takashi." Sometime in between his break-up and his flight to the stars, somewhere in between a broken heart and a dream, Keith comforts Shiro. Gen.


**what if this storm ends  
(and i don't see you as you are, ever again)**  
achieving elysium

* * *

The room was dark save for a couple shafts of silvery moonlight through the window and the constellation lamp on his desk, throwing starry patterns across the walls.

He hadn't lived here in a while, in his own room, so his things were a bit scarce. He hadn't lived alone in— years, really.

Shiro had spent a few hours scrolling through old photos, curled up on his bed and hidden away from the rest of the world. He half-regretted it now, all the empty space in his camera roll and his messages and next to him.

Now he'd put down the phone, had made himself stop scrolling and scrolling and thinking. Now it was quiet; there were no tears or frustrated fists beating into his pillow.

Shiro followed the lines of light on his walls. The lamp was spherical—the stars were cut out of it, and warm yellow light poked out into the night.

 _Leo Minor, Caelum_ , he listed. _Circinus_. _Libra._

There was a knock on his door.

Shiro jolted, his heart pulsing against his throat like an animal in a cage.

He opened his mouth and found himself choking on air.

Maybe it was Adam. Maybe it was Adam, and he'd tilt his head the way he always did to say hello, and lean on the doorframe. And he'd look how Shiro felt—a little angry, a little heartbroken, a little sorry—standing there with his heart next to the stripes on his uniform, and his mouth would close around the name _Takashi_. Then maybe he would say—

Shiro didn't know what he'd want Adam to say.

The knock came again. A moment later there was a click—Shiro's heart jumped again—and the door opened with a small creak.

Shiro hadn't yet decided if he wanted to fight or flee, staring at the halo of light that burst in from the hallway.

But it was only Keith.

Not only Keith, he corrected himself. Keith. Keith, kind and bright and so much more than others gave him credit for.

"Uh, hey," Keith said, taking a hesitant step in.

When Shiro didn't say anything, only slumping in acknowledgement, Keith shut the door behind him and crossed the room.

The bed dipped as Keith sat down next to him.

"I, um," Keith said, like he was searching for something from Shiro but wasn't quite getting what he wanted. "I brought—well, I didn't know if you would want anything. But I brought astronaut food."

Shiro lifted his head a little.

"Astronaut food," he repeated.

Keith smiled a little, then, and waved a silvery bag in front of his face.

"From the convenience store," he said, and that made Shiro smile a little too.

"The convenience store, Keith?" He bumped their shoulders together. "We're at the Garrison, a place for space explorers, and you took the time—and the hoverbike, I'll bet—to go out to the convenience store to get some astronaut food."

"Well," Keith said. "Yeah. You know I like their strawberries better."

Shiro snorted at that. "Go on, open it then."

Keith tore off the top and handed him dry, pinkish slivers that Shiro popped in his mouth. Keith had always liked them for some reason.

Food, of course, had come a long way since freeze-dried strawberries, but Keith insisted they were a classic.

"Get this," Keith said, reaching into his backpack. Shiro hadn't noticed it before. He pulled out another silvery bag. "I was going to get real ice cream, but it'd melt, so… astronaut ice cream."

Shiro laughed.

"Pass it over, you," he said, and Keith did.

"Neopolitan," Keith said, "your favorite."

Shiro rolled his eyes. "It's the only flavor they sell."

He was smiling, though, as he bit into the freeze-dried ice cream bar. It was just as crumbly as he remembered, but admittedly good.

Keith was holding his own in his hands, just watching Shiro quietly. When Shiro caught him, he lowered his ice cream and set it to the side.

"What?"

Keith bit his lip and looked away for a moment.

"Haven't seen you in a while," he said carefully. "I just wanted to come by."

"Yeah."

Shiro knew he was already beginning to shut down, putting his thoughts away into labeled boxes.

"I've been busy," he said.

And it wasn't a lie—there were still so many things to do, meetings to attend. There were mission tests, information to review to prepare. He and Commander Holt were keeping up a steady stream of communication, the older man peppering him with questions and ideas.

And Shiro had talked to students, and appeared for a lecture. He'd spoken to his superiors, spoken to his juniors. And he'd gone through the halls, counting faces and hoping he would see Adam among them, and then hoping he wouldn't.

"I heard about what happened," Keith said, quieter this time. "You… didn't tell me."

Shiro swallowed. Keith was right—they hadn't talked in a few days, and no, Shiro hadn't told him.

Mostly, he thought, so this wouldn't happen. So he wouldn't have to see Keith look at him like this, so he wouldn't have to talk about it with someone who'd listen.

"I," Shiro said, "needed some time."

"I know," Keith replied. So he hadn't come to seek Shiro out any earlier.

Shiro ground his teeth together and then ran his tongue through his mouth, catching a few bits of the ice cream.

"I'm sorry. I know you and… you loved him a lot."

Loved, Shiro wondered. Loved, or love? Was it love that had carved something ugly and open in his chest?

Keith moved closer, leaving his ice cream bar in his lap, and then caught Shiro in a hug.

It was so unexpected Shiro couldn't think for a moment. Keith rarely showed much affection to anyone—well, he did, in his own ways—but this…

Shiro felt his hands tremble as he drew them across Keith's back. He didn't know if it was because of the tidal storm that had suddenly overtaken him or the sickness that had fought its way through his system bit by bit.

But now Shiro let himself be held, let his hands shake, let himself feel defeated.

"Shiro," Keith said, his breath warm on Shiro's cheek.

And then Shiro buried his head in Keith's shoulder and cried. Keith pressed his hands to Shiro's neck. They were cold, but the pressure was nice. The—comfort was nice.

"Hey," Keith said in his ear, and Shiro cried as Keith ran his fingers through Shiro's hair. "Hey, it'll be okay."

Shiro had cried before, in the past few days. He'd caught Adam's gaze across the hall and then bolted to the bathroom, shaking in the stall. He'd cried himself to sleep, once. He'd slipped into the gym in the early morning when no one else was there and hit the punching bag until his knuckles were dark and he was crying and empty.

But he hadn't cried like this. Arms around him, a voice in his ear. A comfort, a touch, a friend.

Shiro shuddered once the tears had stopped. He tried to lift his head, but Keith pressed Shiro's head to his shoulder.

"Just another moment," he said, and Shiro put his cheek where Keith's shirt met skin, where the fabric was damp.

"Thank you," Shiro murmured.

Keith's fingers drew together across the back of his neck. Keith's voice was tight.

"I'm here," he said, and that was the kindest thing that Shiro had heard in a long time.

"God," Shiro whispered. "It hurts."

Keith took Shiro's hand and let him lift his head. He was looking at Shiro, but there was very little pity in his face, like what he'd seen others blink from their faces. There was just sadness—hurt, for Shiro's hurt—and something gentle and good.

"I know."

Shiro licked his lips and then began. "He said he couldn't… he just wanted me to _stay_ , Keith."

His voice broke. And here, Keith's face twisted.

"I know," he said again, and there was something more visceral about the way he said it this time.

Shiro looked at the stars and began to point them out. "Leo Minor, Caelum. Circinus, Libra."

"Scutum, Telescopium," Keith continued for him, then faltered. "Horologium…"

"Do you want me to stay?"

Keith's brows furrowed; he took in a sharp breath and looked as if he might cry himself.

"Of course I want you to stay—" he said, and then tore his face away from Shiro's gaze. "Of course I want you to stay, Shiro, because you are the one person who never left."

Shiro's heart trembled.

"I thought about it," he admitted. "I thought about staying, I thought maybe he was right, maybe I should stay. Where I have people who love me and want me."

"Are you?" Keith asked. Before Shiro could say anything, Keith continued. "I wasn't done."

Shiro swallowed and nodded.

"I want you to stay," Keith said steadily, keeping his gaze though his voice wavered, "the same reason he wants you to stay, because I don't know when I get to have you, and if we spend our lives with ticking time, wondering.

"I don't want to lose you. He didn't—doesn't—want to lose you. I can't fault him for that. He wanted you. He wanted time. He wanted you here, not out where you could be in danger. He thought if he left you might stay.

"He thought if he left first maybe he wouldn't have to deal with you leaving him."

And it was like a terrible knife, sharp and beautiful, in Shiro's heart.

"But it's not about what I want." Keith lifted a hand and wiped at his eyes. "It's about what you want."

Keith took a deep breath. Steadied himself. Then pointed at the walls, where the stars were hanging, at the window and past it, to the real stars beyond there, and the planets, and the space between them that made Shiro's soul sing and sing and sing.

"And you want to go." Keith swallowed. "So I want you to go."

Shiro couldn't find the words for what he wanted to say.

"Keith," he said instead.

Keith smiled at him.

"You take care of yourself out there," Keith said, picking up his ice cream bar.

Good, Shiro thought distantly. If it hadn't been astronaut ice cream it would've melted. Keith held it out, and after a moment, Shiro knew what he was waiting for.

He grabbed his own and tapped them together.

"It's a promise, then," Shiro said lightly.

"It better be," Keith said, grinning. "No one else is going to help me eat those freeze-dried strawberries."

Shiro ducked his head and felt his mouth curve into a smile.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Keith hummed.

"You'll come back," he said, and he leaned against Shiro's shoulder. "I know you will. And I'll wait for you."

Shiro's heart was aching, a gaping hole where there had been something before. His finger felt so wrong, like he was missing a knuckle, where there was an empty space where Adam's promise had shone.

But Shiro looked to the stars, looked to Keith, and felt like there was something for him. Here and there.

"What if I stay there? What if I don't come back?"

Keith took a bite of his ice cream. His answer was so simple Shiro felt it in his bones.

"Then I'll find you."


End file.
